


THE GAY AWAKENS

by thursdayknight



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Bisexual Steve Harrington, Comedy, Flirting, Fluff, Gay Bar, Gay Billy Hargrove, Happy Ending, Jealousy, Kissing, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Season/Series 03, Realizing you're not straight is hard, Steve Harrington has panic attacks, Steve Harrington is a disaster bi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:48:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22884295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thursdayknight/pseuds/thursdayknight
Summary: They didn't mean to do it. They didn't know it was a gay bar. They just needed to use a phone because their car broke down. But. Well… now that they're here…
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 52
Kudos: 299
Collections: harringrove for Australia





	THE GAY AWAKENS

**Author's Note:**

> For gaymacriot on tumblr. :)
> 
> Also, the line, "Holy shit! It's a gay bar, Batman!" isn't mine, but ezra_mara's. That line cracks me up. The title is also from Ezra. 'Cause Ezra is amazing.

It happens completely on accident - they're just driving back from one of Billy's doctors' appointments when Steve's car decides that the middle of the road in the middle of downtown Evansville is as good a place as any to suddenly give up the ghost and die. The only reason they don't die themselves, honestly, is that it's near midnight and there aren't very many other cars on the road at this hour.

Somehow they manage to manoeuver the car over to the side of the road to park it without having to get out and push, which, thank God for that, because if they did have to get out of the car and push, well, Steve knows Billy is exactly the kind of asshole that would push himself past all safe limits and injure or… or… or… rupture… _something,_ God knows what, but _something_ and it's only been four months since the whole near-death incident and much as Billy would (and often does) bitch and moan to the contrary, he is far from fully healed. He is far from back to his full strength and Steve has endured sitting in the car all day with him after hearing several different doctors tell Billy exactly that. 

And he knows Billy better than Billy thinks he does and he _knows_ that after a day like today Billy would have tried not just to push the car but he would have tried to do it _all by himself, too._

Because Billy's always had something to prove and it's only gotten worse since that night.

Now, you'd think a guy would be grateful he narrowly avoided death, but no. Not Billy Hargrove. He's treated the whole thing like some giant cosmic test he's been told he massively failed and now he's got even more to prove than ever.

It's exhausting.

Steve's exhausted. 

So when they finally stumble upon a bar with a flashing neon "open" sign perched atop one of its tiny little windows after walking for nearly twenty minutes along the nearly silent, nearly completely deserted and very much unfamiliar Evansville streets, Steve could almost swear he hears an actual hallelujah chorus. He could kiss the grimy, greasy dark wood panelled exterior of the bar. Hell, he'd kiss the cracked, crumbling pavement in the parking lot. He'd even kiss one of the many dirty, roughed up looking cars and/or motorcycles sitting parked out in the tiny, cramped, little parking lot. That's how happy he is. 

He's so happy he only just barely catches the name of the place as they walk towards it and even then that's mostly just to tell whoever they can manage to get on the phone at this time of night where to come pick them up.

At least, he's happy until he realizes Billy is _still_ talking. 

"I'm just saying, _Steven,_ " Billy says as they walk through the stiff and heavy front doors and man… that's it. That right there is _it._ That is the limit for the day. Steve can't even let Billy finish that sentence before he snaps:

"Man, could you _not?"_

Billy, of course, rolls his eyes and uses his entire face to do it. He asks, "Could I not _what?"_ even though it's clear from the spark trapped just behind those eyes that that's not really all he wants to say just like standing here and talking clearly isn't all he wants to do, if the way his fingers are gripping the belt loops on his ridiculously tight, almost literally painted on jeans is any indication.

It makes a big, fat sigh unfurl and push itself through Steve's lips without his meaning for it to happen. Even so, he barrels on anyway. "It's always Harrington, or Steven, or Stevie or Pretty Boy. Can't you once, _just for once,_ call me by my _actual name?"_ he says, almost pleading and feeling ridiculous for it and it comes off sounding mostly like he's just exhausted, he's pretty sure, but still.

"And here I thought I _was,"_ Billy says and something in his tone makes Steve twitch and Steve desperately does _not_ want to know why. 

Still, Steve can't help himself, he fires back with: "You know, if you ever really _did_ call me by my actual name, I think I might actually just have a freaking heart attack and die on the spot from the shock of it," because if there's anyone that can get under his skin, can drag that old camera-smashing, ruler-of-the-school, fuck-you-I'll-do-what-I-want-when-I-want attitude out of him, it's Billy. Especially lately.

Billy, of course, only ever sees this as a challenge and it's only maybe half a second before Billy's eyes light up in that way that Steve's grown to realize means that's exactly how he's taken it. "Alright," Billy says, voice debaucherously low. "Steve." 

Steve huffs loudly through his nose as Billy stares at him dead on like he's actually waiting for Steve to keel over. 

A couple of seconds roll by and when Steve doesn't clutch his chest and fall to the floor Billy laughs and grins and shouts, "Look at that! Ladies and gentlemen, he's still standing!" It's on Billy's use of the word 'ladies' that Steve notices what Billy clearly hasn't yet. 

There are no ladies anywhere in sight.

Billy moves to grab Steve's hand and raise it up in the air in mocking victory but Steve dodges out of the way. The hurt look that spreads on Billy's face like blood spilled on the sidewalk hurts like a punch to the gut but Steve ignores it. "Billy, look," he says.

Billy looks around them and notices the same thing Steve did. There are no women in this bar. 

And then the club's name quickly and violently takes on new meaning for the both of them.

The club is called The Rod. 

There are no women present. 

This is a gay bar.

Somehow, they've stumbled ass backwards into a gay bar. 

Or maybe ass backwards is a poor choice of words considering it's a gay bar. 

Which, of course it is, it's called The Rod for fuck's sake. What else was it ever going to be?

And somehow, what comes out of Billy's mouth first is, "Holy shit! It's a gay bar, Batman!" and then he cracks up laughing like past the initial shock he's not at all bothered or grossed out to be here. Like somehow in the past two seconds Billy has morphed into this completely different person and even though Steve's been watching him this entire time, somehow he's still surprised.

Because Billy is _giggling._ Usually, Billy's laugh, rare as it might be, is this low, deep, throaty thing but this is something else. This is something new. This is Billy lighter than Steve's ever seen him.

And he's… looking. At everyone. Like… he's _looking_ looking. 

"We can… stay? If you want? For a bit?" Steve says, his own voice cracking, betraying how uncomfortable he is to be here. 

Not that he minds, of course. He's best friends with Robin so he's cool with it. And Billy can like whoever he wants, no issue, no judgement, no nothing.

Just…

Steve bites his lip.

He's never seen so many attractive men all in one place.

He's a little… stunned, is all. He's a little… stuck. Like in this moment all he wants to do is find a dark corner and hide in it, which… really isn't how he normally feels. At all. About anything. Ever. But. 

He looks over at Billy again and in an instant, all that ease is gone. In an instant, Billy is back to the version Steve knows, all fight and all claws ready to go. "We don't have to, if you're uncomfortable here. We can find somewhere else with a phone. I'm sure there are other bars," Billy says, voice suddenly as deep as it'll go and all serious. 

It breaks Steve's heart to see it so he does what he does best - he shoves his own discomfort aside, puts on his brightest, biggest smile, claps Billy on the shoulder and says, "No, man. I mean it. I'm good. We can stay for a bit. It might even be a good idea and I'm sure we could both stand to relax a little after all that driving." 

The switch back to light, giggling Billy happens in another two seconds flat and it's enough to have Steve's head spinning. 

But his smiles fades some as he watches Billy glide over to the bar and flirt with the bartender to get a drink. Billy can flirt with whoever he wants, he can, of course he can, but the bartender's not even cute. He's this big, tall, rail-thin guy with a shaved head and three separate tattoos peeking out from underneath the edges and holes of his band t-shirt. And Billy is just smiling at him like he's the cutest thing Billy's ever seen. 

And who knows? Maybe that's Billy's type. 

_More power to him,_ Steve tries to tell himself as he turns around to face the dance floor that dominates most of the bar. He watches the men in front of him shimmy and shake and twirl and just all around have a good time just being themselves and he tries not to pull on the neck of his sweater, tries not to think about why watching them pulls at something in his stomach, why watching them makes him itch.

It isn't long before someone comes up to him, taps on his elbow to get his attention and smiles, real easy and says, "Hey," in that way that Steve knows means "I'm interested". 

Something in it snaps something back into place for Steve and he smiles real pretty right back because this? Scoops Ahoy and that stupid hat aside, this is something he's good at, this is something he knows how to do.

Flirting is something he's studied and practiced. Flirting is a skill that he's mastered. 

"That guy you come in with your boyfriend?" Hey-I'm-Interested asks. He smiles like he hopes Billy isn't and Steve fights back a laugh. 

"Billy?" He nearly chokes. "Nah." 

"Well then…" Hey-I'm-Interested's eyes flick quickly up and down Steve's body and Steve takes a moment to appreciate being appreciated like this. It's been a while and good at flirting or not, Hawkins is a small town and he's been publicly marked by what's happened, same as everyone else he knows. Being in a different town, being away from all of that, is nice. Being seen as something other than a tragedy survivor is… _nice._

"This guy botherin' you, Stevie?" Billy drawls from too close behind them and Steve jumps as he spins around to see Billy standing right there, holding not one but _two_ beers. A bead of comically large sweat makes its way down the back of Steve's neck.

Steve laughs awkwardly and too loud. "No, no, not at all," Steve says, all fake cheer and perfectly practiced pleasantness, just like his parents taught him was polite. He hopes Billy gets that's all this is, politeness.

Billy distinctly _doesn't._

Billy eyes the guy up and down real slow like this is a Western and he's Billy the Kid about to shoot up a dirty, thieving criminal before taking a long, slow drink from his beer with his lips wrapped so tightly around the top of the bottle you'd think he was mad at it. 'Cause he's definitely mad at _something._ But then Billy's always mad at something or other and Steve long ago gave up on trying to ever figure out what. Mostly, at this point, he just rolls with it, just accepts that this is just how Billy is sometimes and that's that.

Billy hands Steve a beer and he nods his thanks before nodding at the guy next to him. "This is…" he trails off with a confused-on-purpose smile. "Sorry, did you give me your name?" 

He didn't. Steve knows he didn't, but right now it's the only change in conversation he can think to make. 

"Aaron," Aaron says. "And I was just leaving." And with that, he struts off, leaving Steve in his dust, which is just as well, Steve thinks. Better for him to flirt with someone who thinks it's more than merely _nice._

And that leaves him standing in silence next to Billy, drinking his beer and pretending not to notice the waves of sheer anger blowing off of Billy right now; Billy's filled with so much red-hot rage that Steve wonders if he reached out and touched him, if he'd actually be warm. But then Billy's always warm, has been every time Steve's ever touched him, not that right now would be a good time to test that particular theory. 

So they stand there and they watch the dancers on the dance floor, their hands brushing once, maybe twice and after a few minutes Billy's boiling rage cools to a simmer then dissolves into nothing, leaving him bopping his head along with the lyrics, _"But shoot it in the right direction, make making it your intention - ooh yeah, live those dreams,"_ and smiling. It's a thing Steve never thought he'd see, Billy freaking Hargrove bopping his head to some ridiculous pop song rather than bitch about it. 

And normally, Steve would be on his case about it in an instant, crowing about how he knew - he _knew_ Billy had to like pop music, he knew it. 'Cause nobody really _hates_ Madonna. No one does. And nobody really _hates_ Billy Joel, either. 

Steve's not going to mention it now, though. Billy's in his element here, happy and going with it in a way Steve's never seen before, so even if Frankie Goes To Hollywood is a thousand percent cheesier than Madonna or Billy Joel and much more mockable, Steve won't do it. Because this is nice. This is more than nice, in fact, this is…

Their hands brush again and it's casual, it's nothing, it's something that's happened a thousand times before, but it's also… it's also… Steve doesn't know what it is, but there's something about it. There's something about this place. 

He clears his throat, opens his mouth to say he doesn't know what but he's interrupted by another man, this one a short, lithe type of guy that looks more like he belongs in a fashion show somewhere fancy like New York rather than in a somehow simultaneously dingy and brightly lit gay bar in Evansville. 

"Excuse me," the man says, voice a smooth, soft purr that perfectly matches the soft smoothness of his deeply purple satin shirt. "I was wondering if maybe you'd dance with me?" He looks at Billy, his ridiculously long eyelashes fluttering just like a girl's would and Steve barely manages to put the back of his hand to his mouth to stop himself from laughing out loud. Billy can't possibly be buying this, can he? 

Steve looks over, expecting to see Billy looking… he doesn't know, bored, maybe? Uninterested at the very least, but instead what happens is Billy snorts, nods and thrusts his nearly empty beer bottle at Steve without so much as looking at him. He takes the guy's offered hand and leads him out onto the dance floor to dance.

Steve watches as this happens, watches as Billy rolls his hips in a motion so fluid it shouldn't be possible and he feels… unpleasant. He feels like he needs to take a shower and he doesn't remotely know _why._

He can't be homophobic, right? 

He can't be. He's not like that. 

He turns to look at a couple just off the dance floor - two men wrapped fully around each other, hands in each other's hair and kissing like they're starving for it and all he feels is a slight tingling in his own lips and a need to kiss someone himself, like he often feels whenever he sees any couple kissing. 

So that's definitely not it. 

He sighs and clinks together the two beer bottles in his hands before going to set them down on the nearest table. He doesn't much feel like finishing them now. He doesn't much feel like dancing alone, either.

He's about to start picking at the label on one of the bottles just for something to do when behind him, someone clears his throat. The second before he turns around he can feel his heart sprinting up to land in his own throat but then he actually turns around to see the man who'd cleared his throat _wasn't_ Billy and instantly his heart drops into his stomach in a way that feels almost too real. Like he can picture entirely clearly the sound that it makes as it splash lands, that's how bad it is.

"Wanna dance?" the guy in front of him asks. He's a big, burly, hairy dude who looks like he probably doesn't know his right foot from his left, but Steve shrugs and says, "Sure," because even if this guy does nothing but step on his toes for a whole song that's got to be better than standing alone, picking labels off of beer bottles, at the very least.

He's shocked to find the guy is a surprisingly good dancer and that dancing with him is a decently good time but Steve can't help it; every time he turns around his eyes search for Billy. Billy's dancing with someone new, a guy with dark hair just a little longer than his own this time and still, it makes Steve feel… gross in ways he doesn't know what to do with. 

He tries to refocus his energy on himself and the guy he's dancing with but it doesn't seem to matter much as the second the last note of the song belts out of the speakers the guy nods at him once, curt to the point of near rudeness, and wanders off, leaving Steve to head to the edge of the dance floor and plunk himself down at a table there. 

He watches Billy on the dance floor for a few minutes before someone whispers, almost right in his ear, "No one else ever had a chance, did they?" 

It makes Steve jump and splutter and clutch at his chest like a little old lady. 

"What?" he squeaks in this embarrassingly pitchy way as a tall, broad shouldered and objectively gorgeous man steps out from behind him and takes up the empty seat at the other side of the small, round table Steve's taken to calling his own.

The guy smiles, beams more like, then takes a long sip of his martini. Steve can imagine the guy saying something like, "Shaken, not stirred," as he ordered it. The guy looks like he could be James Bond. "You're in love with him, admit it," he says, all light and playful, like that isn't at all a serious accusation.

"What?" Steve barks, throwing as much anger as he can into his voice, trying to sound less like a squeaking Chihuahua this time and more like a growling Doberman, more like Billy. "Who?" he says even as he knows who the guy means, of course he does, but what kind of a question is that? He doesn't like…

His eyes dart over to Billy on the dancefloor, doesn't even have to search for him - like somehow, deep down he just knows where Billy is like he's just got a sense for where Billy is at all times. 

He doesn't like Billy. 

He doesn't. 

He's not…

James Bond laughs and it's definitely a laugh that's being directed at him, but it's not cruel, it's not even unkind. "Oh, honey," he says, all soft and fond and knowing. 

Steve hates it. 

"I'm not into him!" 

James Bond raises an eyebrow, sips his drink and sighs. He levels Steve with a flat look like he just _knows_ what Steve's going to say next. 

Steve says it anyway. 

"I'm not into guys!" 

James Bond dips his chin and pushes his shoulders back, looks like he's readying himself for a fight. "I've been watching you all night, ever since you stepped in the door and you have not stopped watching him all night. Every guy that's flirted with you, you never told them you weren't gay and that guy you danced with? Well, that you danced with him is enough, straight guys don't do that, not even the non-homophobic ones. And then you watched a couple kissing and brought a hand to your lips like you wanted someone to kiss _you._ And that whole time? That whole time your eyes kept searching him out like he's all you want to look at. Like he's all you ever want to look at."

"Well," Steve says. "That was quite the speech." He doesn't know what else to say. 

"But was I wrong?" 

Steve raises a hand to his lips, runs a finger along the bottom one in a repetition of a movement he only just remembers doing now.

The problem is he's not. 

"But I like girls!" Steve spits out weakly.

"And who said you didn't?" James says. "Life's not a game of either/or no matter what anyone else says. Bisexuals exist and I should know, I certainly am." 

Bisexual.

Bisexual.

Bisexual.

Steve rolls the word over and over in his mind and finds he likes the way it sounds. Bisexual. It has a nice ring to it. 

"Huh," he says out loud. 

"Alright, now moving past that for a moment, sweetie," James says, making Steve wonder if pet names are a gay guy thing, like maybe that's why Billy's always doing it to him. "What did you spend all day doing?"

Steve answers without thinking. "I was driving him to all his doctors' appointments." 

James smirks. "I see. And did he ask you or did you volunteer? Maybe 'cause spending the whole day with him and taking care of him seems, I don't know, appealing to you?"

Steve gulps. It did. It does. Even when Billy is frustrating the absolute shit out of him, he doesn't want to spend time with anybody else. Not really.

"I volunteered," he says. "I volunteered. I…" He feels like a bug that's hit the windshield at eighty miles an hour. That's how he feels. Splattered. 

James smiles at him softly and nods his head. "Now I see why he's been so aggressive with every guy that's talked to him tonight."

Suddenly, Steve is lost. "Huh?" 

"Sweetie, look at him. And really look this time. Does he look like he's enjoying himself?" 

Steve looks over at Billy again and this time, as suggested, he really _looks._ Billy's dancing with that big, burly guy Steve had danced with earlier and Steve notices… he notices Billy really doesn't seem like he's having fun at all. Oh, he's smiling, sure, he's flirting, sure, he's pouring all of his charm into every move he makes, but it's an act. It's all as fake as it is any time Billy flirts with… girls. Billy's like this when he flirts with girls. Billy's like this when he's… faking it. 

"He looks a little like he's trying too hard, doesn't he," James says and Steve nods. He doesn't say anything. 

Billy's faking it. 

Billy's faking it.

Billy is absolutely gay but still he's _faking it._

But… _why?_

"Honey," James says and this time the nickname-gentle admonishment combo is further combined with a finger under Steve's chin, dragging his eyes back to James'. "He's been trying to make you jealous since that first guy hit on you and you let him."

 _"I'm coming out"_ by Diana Ross starts playing.

And that's it. 

Steve snaps.

He can't breathe. 

He freezes up. 

He can't move. 

"Oh, honey," James croons. "Come here." When Steve doesn't move, _can't_ move, can't remember how, James scoots his chair across the floor to sit right next to Steve and starts rubbing small circles into his back. It doesn't help. Steve still can't breathe. His lungs burn and he needs Billy - he _needs_ him - but he's forgotten how to look for him, forgotten how to - how to - how to - 

"Hey, pretty boy." Billy's voice breaks through the crashing thunder of Steve's heartbeat in his ears just as Billy's always warm hand lands heavily on his shoulder.

"I got this," Billy says to James, dark as anything. "You can go." 

Steve is stuck looking at the table but he doesn't need to see James' face to know he's smirking as he replies, "Yes, I'm sure you do." 

Then, once James is gone Billy positions Steve so he's facing the wall and he starts running his hands up and down Steve's shoulders hard enough and rough enough to _hurt._ "You're alright, you're alright," he says, smooth and commanding. Demanding. Forcing the fractured parts of Steve to start behaving. "I'm here and you're alright," he says again.

Steve takes a breath. 

"You're alright."

He takes another breath, deeper this time. 

"Whatever it is, we can deal with it." 

He breathes in again and this time feels the numbness in his hands and feet start to pull back a little. 

"You're alright." 

"I'm not straight," Steve blurts out the second he's got enough air in his lungs to make words come out of his mouth. "Like at all " 

"I'm not straight, either," Billy says, soft in a way he only ever is after Steve gets like this, gets panicky and flighty, starts all out bugging out.

"Yeah, I know. I got that." Steve can't help that the words spill out soaked in bitterness. He knows what James said and he knows what he saw on the dancefloor but he also knows that doesn't necessarily mean any of it has anything to do with him. 

He's… he can't help it. He's jealous. Has been all night. He likes boys, he likes Billy and he's _jealous._

And that's when Billy says it. "Steve." Just his name. No nicknames, no anything else. Just his name and something else clicks into place. 

Billy never uses nicknames on anybody else. Not anymore. 

"Wait," Steve stumbles. "You… how… when…" His brain is still too stupid post-panic to quite put together all the pieces that are now laid out neatly before him.

And Billy just looks at him, all kind and concerned, no jokes. Doesn't even look like he wants to make one. It's as obvious as the name of the club and Steve's been missing it all along.

 _"All you need is love"_ by The Beatles starts playing and someone behind them groans loudly. Steve's never liked this song before but now he can't stop smiling.

And Billy's just sitting there waiting.

Billy's _been_ waiting.

Billy Hargrove, capable of patience, who'd have guessed.

And Steve can't speak, wouldn't have the right words on his best day, so instead he leans in and kisses Billy.

And Billy kisses him back. 

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, the lyrics from the first song mentioned are from "Relax" by Frankie Goes To Hollywood. :)
> 
> Picking what music played in the gay bar was so much fun!
> 
> The songs are:
> 
> Relax - Frankie Goes To Hollywood  
> I'm Coming Out - Diana Ross  
> All You Need Is Love - The Beatles


End file.
